


Bear the Linden Leg

by Skjelle



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Predator Original Series (1987-1990), The Predator (2018)
Genre: Bad Spelling & Grammar, Gen, Horror, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25096093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skjelle/pseuds/Skjelle
Summary: So, The Bear. It's almost the totem in pagan russian culture. Mythical and almost intellectual (revengeful at least) beast.Original short story told us how the old man chopped off bear's leg, because bear stealed the harvest. Then bear returned and he had Linden Leg. Bear want to kill the old man and his wife, but people from the village helped - and together they killed the beast. We can interpret this story as archetypical victory of Human over the Wild Nature.In our story, the end will be... different )
Kudos: 2





	Bear the Linden Leg

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Drabblles_lvl 2 (Fandom Xenophilia)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2015451) by [fandom_Xenophilia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_Xenophilia/pseuds/fandom_Xenophilia), [Skjelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skjelle/pseuds/Skjelle). 



> English isn't my native, sorry. You can send me a private message to correct mistakes.  
> I translated my own fanfiction from original russian and, moreover, I tried to to convey the rhythm and the melody of russian dark fairy tales )

Creak, creak, creak.

Bear was hanging out the door. He walked hard, cracked branches and twigs, circled around the old man's house.

"Oh, old man, you shouldn't cut off his leg and boiled his meat," wailing Grandma Avdotya under breath.

Old Nicyphor quacked angrily, stroked his beard, and thought it was his fault, no doubt. If you hit bear with an axe, you shouldn't have simply taken its meat. You should have hunted down the weakened beast and killed it.

But he and Grandmother Avdotya hadn't seen a meat for a year. All turnip and turnip again, and that damn bear could have starved them to death, stealing theit harvest.

Creak, creak, creak.

The bear neither growl, nor scrape the wall with his claws, but "creak" sounds was so nastily, as if it was not wood, but iron.

"Go away, Bruin!" The old man dared to shout.

In return, the bear pawed, so heavy that cast-iron pots fell with frightened chimes from the shelves. Avdotya gasped, picked up skirts and rushed to hide behind the stove.

The bear was already shaking the door, breaking in the mudroom. The old man grabbed the first thing that his hands had been raised, and as he was, barefoot and with oven forks, ready to hit the bear.

The beast was turning around in mudroom, knocking down the furniture, ripping homespun coats. The door to the chamber was slightly ajar, but Nicyphor's old eyes still couldn't see bear's bulk shape. The bear was silent, suddenly, and the door squeaked. Slowly it opened.

From the mudroom's cold darkness, thick fingers stretched out and laid on a flimsy door jamb. Green, spotty and flaky, with claws, sharp as blades and blacker than marsh mires.

"C-c-cree-eak," said the darkness.

And than the old Nicyphor realized that he was wrong.

 _It_ was not a bear.


End file.
